Hens are habitual creatures and all have their own sleeping spot. Yesterday I did the three monthly hen house clean out which comprises removing all the perches, nesting boxes and crates, digging over and raking the floor and re-siting all the above paraphernalia to allow equal wear and tear. I do enjoy (I live an exciting and fascinating life, you understand) standing near the hen house at dusk after one of these clean outs. As the girls return to bed you can hear subtle squawking, chattering, shuffling and feather ruffling as they appraise the new layout and work out where they should sleep. “Oooo, Gladys. Someone moved the sofa!”